


Stab Wound

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Whump, Gore, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Stab Wound, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 16:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20951618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Dean gets stabbed during a hunt, and Castiel has to help him.





	Stab Wound

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 8 of Whumptober 2019.  
Prompt: stab wound
> 
> The Destiel's not a huge part of the story, but I intentionally wrote some of Castiel's gestures to be romantic.

Dean hit the ground as blood flew from his face, droplets spraying into the air. He was sprawled out on his back, shuddering uncontrollably. There was pressure buried through his cheek, and when he tried to make a sound or move his mouth, throbs started up, and agony began to burst through him. There was something in his vision that made his stomach churn, and it took a few seconds for him to recognize it as a blade hilt.

Castiel and Dean had gone on a hunt together, just the two of them, and he thought it’d be easy; just some idiots trying to control ghosts. Castiel killed the necromancer (or whatever the hell he was; Dean knew he had his terminology wrong), the final ghost dissipating as its human tether to the world had been felled. He screamed his name as he rushed over to him.

The leaves were green and dewy above Dean, the brown bark rigid and beautiful with moss growing over it. And he thought maybe he saw the sky, a patch of perfect blue through the canopy, shining down on him.

Castiel had a hand on his thigh, trying to steady, to comfort, and the other one was on his face.

Oh god, it hurt! He tried to scream, but flesh was dug into the wider his mouth opened, and something scraped against his teeth.

“Dean! Oh no, oh no… Dean…”

Dean wanted to crack a joke, ask if he was still pretty like this, but he was too busy swallowing his own blood or letting it spray past his lips. A knife to the face. That was a way to go.

“Dean, I’m going to pull it out.”

_Then just do it!_ he thought. He didn’t need coddling, not when his face hurt like a son of a bitch and he was getting dizzy, leaves blurring together in his vision.

Castiel’s hands were on the knife, the pressure jarring, making Dean’s whole body twitch, right leg kicking out. And then he pulled it free, blade catching his gums on the way out, and sending a _zing!_ through a molar or two.

Now he found the power to scream, and he did, trying to hold onto Cas, eyes nearly rolling back in his head. His friend threw the knife off into the shadows of the trees, and he put a hand to his ruined face, palm catching the blood as it poured from the gaping wound.

“Heal ‘e,” Dean begged. “Heal m… _mm-mm_…” His voice tapered off into a groan, and Castiel’s palm began to glow.

Dean nearly passed out from the feeling of his skin and muscles regrowing, the wound closing up. Blood filled back into him, a gross rush of wetness, sloshing. More muscles stretched out, rebuilt themselves, and soon his skin was pink and new against Castiel’s hand.

When it was done, Dean gasped in air, and now he was breathing hard. Still, he shook, and he was weak. Castiel got his head up into his lap.

“Cas.”

“Don’t worry, Dean. I’ll look after you.” He caressed his newly healed cheek, as tender as ever. “I’ll look after you.”


End file.
